


Tipsy

by misura



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Community: springkink, F/M, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booth supposed the party wouldn't have been complete without it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipsy

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted June 2008

Bones knocked her glass of punch back like it was moonshine, and under any other circumstance, Booth would have approved of that as a sign of her being human enough to get thirsty.

"Whoa, easy there, Bones," said Booth - he'd spotted Hodgens near the punch not five minutes before, and was quite certain he knew what that meant. Typical squint-behavior, really - this party simply would not have been complete without it.

"It's just punch." Bones frowned at him. There were bits of confetti stuck in her hair. She pronounced the word 'punch' like it was as new to her as the name 'Joe diMaggio'.

" _Spiked_ punch," Booth corrected her. Probably unsporting of him, to give away the 'joke' but then, if Hodgens had wanted his actions to remain unnoticed, he should have made sure Booth was out of the room before he'd tried anything. Booth was _FBI_. Noticing things was his job.

Bones was still frowning. "Are you concerned the alcohol will lower my inhibitions?"

"Which inhibitions would those be?" Booth asked, more in an attempt to keep the conversation going than because he expected an answer that would actually tell him anything new.

"None, that's my point. When people blame their behavior on alcohol, they're really just making excuses for themselves. Yes, alcohol can change your perceptions, but only a little. It's not like you turn into a different person simply because you're drunk."

"It's times like these when it really hits me how little you get out," said Booth, privately adding that in this case, perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

"No, no, I'm serious. Do you honestly think that someone should get away with committing a crime simply because he was acting under the influence of alcohol? If anything, I think that makes it even worse. People who know of themselves that they might be suppressing feelings of anger or resentment shouldn't drink at all."

"Kind of harsh, don't you think?" She probably wouldn't, Booth reflected. "It's a way of letting go, forgetting about things for a while." And waking up with a hang-over the next morning.

"It doesn't solve anything," Bones objected. "It's only a form of escapism. Are you wearing a new tie today?"

"O-kay, major non-sequitur there, and yes, I do know what that means."

"It's Latin. And I like it."

"What, Latin?" All right, he'd known that had been a mistake the moment he'd said it. Rule number twenty-seven in dealing with squints in general and Bones in particular: do not attempt to be funny, because it won't work.

"Your tie," Bones said, expression completely serious, with a possible dash of exasperation at dumb FBI-guys who needed to have things spelled out for them.

"I knew that." Booth glanced at his tie just long enough to make sure that yup, same old tie he'd worn dozens of times before.

"It's very ..." Bones frowned, apparently searching for the right adjective. "It suits you."

"Thanks, Bones. I mean, obviously, it's just the alcohol talking, and, well, there's more to me than my tie, but thanks all the same."

"You don't like people complimenting you on your choice of ties?"

"Wait, don't explain - you think it's better to praise someone for their ideas or choice in clothes than because of the way they look. Brains over brawn. Am I right?"

"Yes." Bones sounded surprisingly unsurprised. "It would be pointless to say I liked your eyes, or the colour of your hair, or the build of your body. Those are all things you had nothing to do with - some of the muscle- and fat-tissue, yes, but the overall features, no."

"But you like them, don't you?" Booth said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Angela, standing remarkably close to Hodgens, pretending not to be looking in his and Bones' direction. "Right now?"

"They're attractive," replied Bones, in the same tone she'd have used to say the sky was blue (unless there were clouds) complete with that hint of 'you already know this - why do I need to tell you?'.

"You think I'm attractive," Booth repeated. "Do you know what I think?"

"No, but it's obvious you're going to tell me."

"I think you're drunk." Which was kind of a pity, because Bones wasn't exactly hard on the eyes herself - and Booth was stone-sober, so he could quite confidently say _that_ idea hadn't come straight out of a bowl of spiked punch.

"Just because I say you're attractive, you think I'm drunk?" Bones laughed. At least she wasn't giggling. Booth didn't think he'd be able to handle a giggling Bones. A 'hitting-on-him' Bones was weird enough.

"No, just because I've seen you knock back a glass of spiked punch which was followed by you suddenly deciding a tie I've owned for over ten years was all kinds of wonderful, I think you're drunk."

Angela had given up trying to be subtle and was staring openly now, mostly ignoring Hodgens who seemed to be telling her something - sharing one of his conspiracy-theories, most likely.

"And right now," Booth added, "I think you should go home." That would really give them something to talk about, he knew - him walking out with Bones on his arm. Although if she were anything like a typical drunk, she would of course insist she could walk perfectly well by herself. "I'll drop you off."

Bones laughed again. "That's just so ... simply because a woman finds you attractive, you assume she's incapable of taking care of herself? Besides, Angela's already promised to give me a ride."

Booth decided any gesture he might make to communicate his intention to drive Bones home was likely to be misinterpreted, so instead, he made eye-contact and held up his carkeys while adopting an inquiring expression. Angela nodded, making a gesture that Booth prefered to interpret as 'go ahead and drive safely'. "See? Angela doesn't mind." Booth gave her a friendly wave. "Can I get you your coat?"

Sober, Bones would never have fallen for that. As it was, she said: "I can get it myself," and that was it.

(They argued all the way to her apartment.)


End file.
